The Ocean Will Have Us All:John Cale @ the Royal Festival Hall.

The ocean will have us all. John Cale is 83 years old. He was 26 when he was kicked out of The Velvet Underground in 1968, less than a month after I was born. Though he joined for the odd reunion gig, or series of gigs, in the nineties, he's been officially out of the band that made his name for nearly sixty years. So it was probably a bit rich that I was disappointed that he didn't play any VU songs when Darren and myself went to see him last night at London's Royal Festival Hall.

On other dates of this tour, he's played I'm Waiting For The Man as part of the encore but last night there was no encore and no VU tunes. It didn't really matter. Cale's got a huge, rich, and musically diverse back catalogue and he picked from right across it last night. There were tracks from as far back as Paris 1919 (released 1973) and Fear (1974) right up to a smattering of selections from last year's Poptical Illusion LP.

Some of it was very good indeed. Some if it was fine. But some of it, and I hate to say this, dragged on a little. It feels almost like sacrilege to make even mild criticism of such a wonderful and storied artist but the odd track could have been cut by a couple of minutes and would have been better for it. You don't go to John Cale for the hits, for straightforward rock'n'roll, for Friday night energy. But I greedily wished he'd played a few more of his upbeat tunes.

Opener Shark Shark got a pretty addictive motorik groove going, Captain Hook was long but served as a perfect showcase for Cale's artful and literary lyricism (the East India Company and the Cape of Good Hope crop up, later in the set he'd reference field marshals and company commanders, Cale sometimes feels like he should come with a suggested reading list), and Out Your Window brilliantly captured the mood of grey intrigue in cold war mitteleuropa perfectly. Close your eyes and can you see Germanic detectives smoking filterless cigarettes on the Alexanderplatz at night.

Better still were The Endless Plain Of Fortune (despite being played in a weirdly jittering style that managed to divest the song of a little - not all - of its beauty), a rousing Davies and Wales, and a lovely - and well earned - rendition of Barracuda from Fear. Possibly the tune of the night. While Rosegarden Funeral of Sores revelled in the sort of proto-goth energy that makes it no surprise whatsoever that Bauhaus chose to cover it.

Other moments were less impressive. I know that it's long been widely critically acclaimed but I simply can't get on board with Cale's version of Heartbreak Hotel. Yes, it's a bleak lyric and Cale mines that very bleakness to its very core until it sounds like he really is so lonely he could die but I'm not convinced anyone has ever improved an Elvis song with a cover. It got Darren and I talking after the gig and the three closest we could come up with were Nick Cave's In The Ghetto, The Fine Young Cannibals take on Suspicious Minds, and The Pet Shop Boys electropop take on Always On My Mind.

All good. None better than Elvis' versions. All better, though, than some of Cale's more disappointing output on the night. Setting Fires simply dragged, and Villa Albani was a bit of a tepid choice for a set closer. Hence the disappointment at the lack of encore. Tom McRae, too, was an underwhelming support act. Though he did at least have a few nice anecdotes that involved Scott Walker, Bowie, Elliott Smith, and The Waterboys. As well as Cale himself.

Let's not linger on the negatives though. Set Me Free was gorgeous (Cale's lovely Welsh singing voice here, and elsewhere, reminded me of when loads of my elderly relations came down from Llanelli to sing at my grandfather's funeral over thirty years ago, apologies if that's a bit Ivor the Engine for you) and last year's Company Commander proved he's not growing old gracefully and neither has he lost his penchant for making a glorious racket. Which is what you want, isn't it?

Thanks to Darren for a great night and a (mostly) great gig. The odd moment of longueurs at the gig was more than made up for by top company, a drink (lemonade for me during this month off the pop) at the bonkers Lord Nelson pub, and bloody tasty dosas (I had moong dal dosa with grated spiced paneer) at the South Bank food market beforehand. John Cale was never going to become a heritage performer, churning out the hits night after night. That may occasionally frustrate but, far more than that, it means he's a rare talent and one we should cherish. Even if his idea of a fun Friday night is doing a cover of Nico's Frozen Warnings!